So deemed a tawdry object, marked for lust,

As to caress her form with hungry eyes,

The thought, the tongue, deft digits yet to thrust,

All brutal means voraciousness supplies;

Reluctant dress hooks, oft the lovers bane—

Rude wrenched asunder—garments hit the floor,

Red pouting lips that drive the mind insane,

Lace bodice ripped, her loveliness outpoured;

A breathless rush hot seared in passion’s fire,

All reason scorched, a lust-fueled firestorm;

Bare beast of ages raging in desire,

A carnal demon cast in human form.

The brute, now sated, finds his reason torn—

Blood-guilt still smol’dring on that frock forlorn.

What force compels that still I seek you so?

Straight to your heart where sings the golden bird

Ensconcing beauty and resounding truth—

Attainment thus—the conquest of a world!
But if by some dark chance you love not me

And your sweet heart is to another given,

By blade alone I would so steel the need

To leave this life and seek a separate heaven.

Without your smile there is no morning sun—

There hope lies slain and my sad rune is done.